


know you now

by Afueras



Category: Bandom, David Bowie (Musician), Placebo
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:49:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afueras/pseuds/Afueras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I love you,” said David under his breath, to the figure on stage. That was the last time he would say that to anyone, he decided. Never again, because he wouldn’t need to. He was <i>the</i> David Bowie. This one would be swept off his feet like they always were, and say it back, and that would be that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	know you now

“I love you,” said David under his breath, to the figure on stage. That was the last time he would say that to anyone, he decided. Never again, because he wouldn’t need to. He was _the_ David Bowie. This one would be swept off his feet like they always were, and say it back, and that would be that.

This one could easily be his child, age-wise. He knew, but that had never been a problem before.

It had never been like this before, though.

When David had been passed a demo tape a few months ago, he had immediately thrown it in the growing pile of things he never intended to get to. Things assistants would find and sort through eventually. Things not worth his time.

With age came wisdom, supposedly. David was finding it to be the opposite. With age came wrinkles, and greying hair, and even less comprehension of the world than he had possessed years ago. Groupies were different now. Everything was different now – but he hadn’t lost all of his charm, he was certain of that. He wasn’t so different from that minx on the stage.

That’s why he was here, standing in a dirty venue smaller than any he had played in the past thirty years, trying to keep incognito even though he was certain none of this crowd would recognize him.

He had never listened to that demo, but for some reason the name had stayed in his head. _Placebo._

David stared hard at the singer, memorizing the shoulder-length bob that started the gig sleek but was now a tangled black halo, damp with sweat under the piss-yellow lights. Feasting his eyes on smooth, slender limbs and creamy skin glistening with perspiration.

The girl-boy’s voice alternated between a pleasantly nasal tenor and a squealing falsetto. His hips moved like a girl’s. David wanted to press his fingers into the softness around those hips, aiming not to bruise but just to _touch._ The boy was the junkie kind of slim, soft in all the right places.

The musicianship was slightly above average at most, David absently thought. The _songs_ though; they were songs of the sort he wished he had written years ago. He watched avidly as his girl-boy sang about things he couldn’t possibly understand, with a steady conviction that left you doubtless that he did.

The gig was too long and too short at the same time. David was ready, terribly ready to go introduce himself and let the adulation begin – but at the same time, he wasn’t.

This boy was so vain, so goddamn _arrogant._ David could see it in his every move, in the self-assured bleating of each refrain, in the filthy lyrics that dripped from each verse, in the tightness of the black dress he had on. David _wanted_ it, that arrogance. He didn’t want the simpering and fawning that even his most audacious shags inevitably melted into. He wanted this one to stay vain. Stay self-absorbed.

As much as he wanted this one to be different, though, his crotch wanted other things entirely. Toward the backstage area he went.

Security let him pass, of course. They were too awed to do otherwise. Whether they were awed by him or by the thick folds of money he had slipped into their hands was inconsequential; he was still on top of the world. He still had it.

The door to the shithole serving as dressing room had a paper taped on it, handwritten with the name of the band and its members. The only name David cared about was the first one – it had to be the singer’s… Brian? That was a surprise; it was more masculine than he expected, and disappointingly lacking in possible pet names. That was no real problem though, if one thing had improved about David through the years it was his vocabulary of endearments. One had to be charming, when one’s looks began to fade. Not that his looks were fading, he told himself, he was just being prepared.

He knocked on the door.

“What is it, mate?” It was the drummer, he thought: a man with a strong accent and long greasy hair. He looked vaguely annoyed and disinterested, which was not something David appreciated.

David pulled off his sunglasses, which weren’t very dark to begin with, and his hat. The drummer’s bloodshot eyes widened visibly.

“Good evening,” purred David with every ounce of charm he could muster, and brushed past the shocked man.

“Wonderful show tonight,” he said smoothly to the room at large. It consisted of a tall man – the bassist – who stood frozen in the middle of changing his top, an agitated-looking woman – probably management of some sort – and… ah, there. His girl-boy. Brian, the singer.

Brian was facing away, still in his dress. He looked even tinier in person – how tall _was_ he? His fingernails were blue, David noticed. Brian was bent slightly over a table, presumably fixing his sweaty eye makeup.

The woman was the only one who directly responded to the statement. Her head snapped up, sharp eyes fixing on him. He had been right, definitely management. She crossed the room in a couple of brisk strides and stuck out her hand. 

“We are very pleased you could be here. If you had notified us, we would have set you up with better arrangements.”

“I prefer it this way, being a bit more common, blending in.”

“I understand. Did you have a good night?”

“Yes, it was excellent.”

She took her cue. “These are the boys – Stefan, bassist. Steve, drummer.” They both produced awkward waving motions, still bewildered.

“And – Brian, come here,” she said. Her raised voice was neutral, but slightly tense.

The singer reacted to his name, straightening up and turning in one slow, jerky motion. The management woman crossed the room and dragged him over by the arm.

He clearly hadn’t been fixing his makeup.

Up close, Brian’s skin was grey-tinged, and imperfect; his pupils were dilated beyond belief. An addict, then. Hair that didn’t look as full as it had on stage, and sweat that spoke more of filth than it did of lust.

No fawning adulation. He didn’t look aware enough for that, with the woman’s arm around his shoulders seemingly the only thing keeping him upright. No arrogance, either. He just looked strung-out and ill. He seemed to recognize David after a few seconds, and a sort of shiny look reached his eyes, but he still said nothing.

The manager gave him a little shake. “David got our demo tape,” she said.

After a moment, Brian turned to her. “Demo tape?” he said, his voice raspy and exhausted-sounding. His eyes looked a little more focused.

“I sent one off a few months ago.”

The singer nodded, and turned his gaze back to David. The singer’s eyes would be brilliantly blue, he realized, minus the redness, dark circles, and impossibly large pupils. They were still beautiful, as were his lips. He could be a very beautiful one, David saw. He could be the angel he had been on stage.

Instead of the disgust he wanted to feel, David had only a vague sort of soft feeling for the figure in front of him. He could sense the manager’s apprehension and the other band members’ dismay at their lead singer’s behavior, but he didn’t feel either one. Was this pity? He didn’t think so. He still wanted the girl-boy.

David stuck out his hand. Brian’s eyes wandered vaguely to it, but he didn’t move. _What the hell_ , David thought, and pulled the unresisting boy into a crushing embrace.

The tiny singer hugged back instantly, an automatic reaction. He smelled strongly of sweat and cigarettes, but that was all right. David could feel the small hands digging into his back, hard enough to be painful, but he didn’t really mind.

The hug had been much too long. That much was confirmed by the dumbfounded looks on the others’ faces. David smiled at them, unfazed.

Brian’s eyes were unfocused and bleary again. He stood hunched in on himself, chewing his blue fingernails like a child. There was no tactful way to do this, David decided. He would have to be blunt; let them think what they will.

“Perhaps you would like to come to dinner with me, talk about your music?”

It was far too late for dinner. Everyone knew that. His singer looked at him again for a long moment, twitching slightly like he was struggling to get words out. David waited patiently. He had all the time in the world.

“Yes. Yes, that would be… good. More than good. Thank you.” His words came out haltingly, but surprisingly articulate. David brushed a sweaty lock of hair behind the singer's ear, noting with approval the small gold hoops he wore, like a teenage girl's.

“Perfect. Shall I let you get changed?”

“I came… in this.”

David was surprised again. Did he dress like this all the time? That would be quite nice, he mused. He fixed yet another smile on his face, as charming as he could make it.

“That’s quite all right. Come along, then?” his eyes flicked around for a jacket or anything else that might belong to the singer, but saw nothing, so he swept his arm toward the door instead, forever playing debonair. 

Still looking disoriented, the girl-boy just followed the gesture and let himself be led out. His manager and bandmates still had not moved. David beamed at them before shutting the door.

The air outside was cold and damp. David removed his jacket, as he was wearing long sleeves anyway, and cast it over his petite companion’s bare shoulders. Brian looked startled for a moment, before attempting a smile of thanks. It came off more as a grimace, but the genuine gratitude behind it gave David an odd feeling of warmth in the pit of his stomach. He put his arm about the girl-boy’s shoulders, and they proceeded to David's car.

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY LORRAINE  
> This is the fastest thing I've ever written in my life, so pardon my mistakes; also, I don't know much about David's personality at all, so forgive my utter bluffing as to his character, haha.  
> I hope this is close to what you had in mind! I might add a part II sometime
> 
> title is that of an Amy Winehouse song


End file.
